


In So Many Words We Cannot Say: Love So Bitter

by ashdeanmanns



Series: In So Many Words We Cannot Say: Duology [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sequel, Tags Are Hard, Vomiting, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 18:31:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19773943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashdeanmanns/pseuds/ashdeanmanns
Summary: August 2, 1928 - Dean agreed to go to a farmer's market.August 11, 1928 - It's so dark.August 13, 1928 - This is the end of my life.---On August eleventh of 1928, Castiel Novak was arrested for the act of homosexuality. He was held in captivity for fourteen years, and, in that time, suffered through multiple different aversion therapies.He was deemed cured in 1942, and was sent to Macon, Georgia, only told that his brother will be waiting for him. Going out into the world was hard, harder than he thought it would be. He wasn't ready for his crippling inability to even look at a man's shoes, for the anxiety that clamped around his throat when a woman's shoulder brushed his own.Over the course of time, his brothers work to help Castiel, through light and harsh methods. They attempt to get him back on his feet, back into his right state of mind, and back into his life that he misses so greatly.And maybe, just maybe, Castiel will work up the courage to go home, to return to Lawrenceville. To see the people in his old life. But that depends on how well Gabriel and Alfie can work their magic.





	In So Many Words We Cannot Say: Love So Bitter

**Author's Note:**

> -In the 1920s, homosexuality was more accepted in urbanized places. New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, places like that. In the south in a small town, not so much. In the 30s, it became Conservative America again.  
> -Conversion therapy only started to be a huge thing in the late 20s, early 30s. It existed, but was not an epidemic until that point. That's why it is not mentioned too much until this book. (Conversion Therapy History below, feel free to skip, but it adds insight on what all happened.)  
> -In 1899, Albert von Schrenck-Notzing claimed that he turned a gay man straight through hypnosis and some trips to a brothel. This was the start of conversion therapy.  
> -In the 20s, castration was a big thing. Eugen Steinach believed that homosexuality came from the testicles. The sexual urges came from the sexual organ. Homosexual men were castrated, and went through surgery for replacement. They were given heterosexual testicles.  
> -Sigmund Frued thought that humans were born bisexual, but went straight or gay through conditioning. Even though Frued believed homosexuality was not a disease, his colleges did not agree. They tried to find treatment. A cure.  
> -In the late 20s and through the thirties, (around those times), electroconclusive therapy was introduced. (From Google: Electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) is a procedure, done under general anesthesia, in which small electric currents are passed through the brain, intentionally triggering a brief seizure. ECT seems to cause changes in brain chemistry that can quickly reverse symptoms of certain mental health conditions.) Robert Galbraith Heath used this, along with prostitutes and heterosexual porn, to reverse the brain into thinking it was heterosexual.  
> -A type of this therapy was the thought that if homosexuality disgusted a gay man, he wouldn't act on his urges. Homosexual people where given vomit-inducing chemicals, and were shown a picture of their lovers or gay pornography as they vomited. They were conditioned with that, so even the thought of being gay would make them sick and vomit.  
> -Electroshock was another form of this. They were hooked up anywhere on the body, often genitals, and were shocked as they were shown pictures of their lovers or homosexual porn.  
> -It was in the 60's-70s that some people gave up on a cure for homosexuality. But as LGBT representation grew and their voice became louder, faith groups and self-proclaimed "experts" took it into their own hands, and began the practice again. Their methods vary from talk therapy to exorcisms. At gay conversion camps, LGBTQ people were isolated from family and friends and were forced to "pray the gay away," were mocked, and coached on "proper gender roles," and, obviously as many of know, were told their urges were unnatural and sinful.  
> -(Aversion therapy background ends now.)  
> -Love So Bitter starts in 1942, which is about halfway through WW2. Cas has been castrated, conditioned to sickness, and panics if anyone touches him. He also went through electroshock therapy.  
> -The 20s, possibly a little earlier, was about the time where a large amount of people really started to voice their opinions on the illegalization of homosexuality.  
> -All of my summaries suck. They have to be long to be good, and I'm not good at brief summaries.  
> -This book is also published on my Wattpad account. If you may have seen it before, that is why. This is the edited version.

**June 24, 1942**

World War Two wreaked havoc on the world. In Europe, atomic bombs sailed through the sky like shooting stars, though they were not stars that you would want to make a wish on. Food was rationed all throughout the world, though Castiel felt that distant, numbed longing to bake. He hadn't been able to for so long. But he no longer remembered how many cups made up a pint, how many teaspoons made up a tablespoon, and those tiny forgotten facts saddened him more than he already was.

He hadn't been released from captivity for more than a few days. He couldn't bring himself to look the different bus drivers in the eyes, and found himself attempting each time to find a seat closest to an exit. He shrunk his shoulders in close to his body, clenched his hands in his wool coat pockets, and tried to remember where he had been told to go. Where his ticket said it would take him.

_Macon, Georgia._

_Your brother will be waiting for you._

His brother. He had not been told which one, but he hoped for one of two. The second oldest and the youngest, his two favorites, whom he mourned for like they were dead.

The bus shuddered underneath him, the vibrations going through his body. They upset his stomach, made his nervous sweat even worse, jumbled all sensible thoughts in his mind. He remembered Dean--

He pressed his right thumbnail harshly into the pressure point on his left hand, pushing the index metacarpal up and closer to the others. The action sent jolts of pain through his arm, but he kept his thumb pressed on the pressure point.

It seemed to take all of eternity for the bus to reach Castiel's unintended destination. The machine shuddered to a stop, brakes squealing sharply, and a voice blared the name. _Macon, Georgia._

He stood up and stepped into the aisle, his bones shrinking into themselves underneath his skin, underneath his coat. But, despite his efforts, the passenger behind him kept urging him forward, rudely kicking his heels. Castiel went forward as fast as he could to escape, but refused to touch the person in front of him.

The passengers spread thin when their feet touched the summer-heated concrete, and Castiel inhaled the fresh air deep into his lungs.

Once the crowd had partially filtered through, he saw him.

Alfie had been twelve years old when he had left, but this was a grown man he made eye-contact with. And though this was a man, Castiel recognized the bright, happy blue of his eyes, and remembered holding him while a storm raged outside during the time he went through a phase of astraphobia. He remembered the little boy who not only did not deserve the life he had been born into, but was too innocent and small for it. His shoulders have always been thin, his arms wiry, his jawline soft and blunt.

His brother's smile was grim, but it was a smile nonetheless. The upturned corners of his mouth lightened Castiel's heart, and, for the first time since nineteen twenty-eight, a smile graced him with its presence, making the corners of his mouth curve upward.

But then the grace turned to darkness. _If he is here, then he knows._

He made his way through the people on the bus stop platform--the train tracks to one edge made him guess that it doubled as a train stop--his lack of luggage, but for a single carry-on, relieving. He didn't need more weight to carry, physical or incorporeal. Once in ear-shot, Alfie moved to take a step forward--immediately Castiel froze, his hand shooting out in front of him, palm spread, to stop him.

And Alfie did what Castiel wanted. He stopped, though he appeared alarmed.

Castiel forced himself to continue forward until he was standing nervously in front of his little brother. He couldn't bring himself to use his voice, and stared down at the gray pavement beneath his cheap shoes--he felt the heat radiating and soaking into the soles of his feet.

"It's been a while, Cassie," Alfie said. His voice was deeper than Castiel remembered.

He raised his head. Hesitantly, he said, "Yes...It has."

"Do you want to talk more when we get home?"

_Home._

_This isn't my home._

Castiel thought of the apartment above his coffeehouse. That was one of his homes. Another place he resided was his second home, where he spent most of his time. He remembered cold evenings with the window wide open, moonlight dancing over the rug-less wooden floor. He remembered appreciating the way the starlight outlined Dean's jaw--

He pressed his thumbnail back into the pressure point on his hand as he felt the conditioned--accustomed--nausea and bile rise in his throat.

He couldn't think about _him_.

\----

Castiel felt empty and bare, just like the room he stood in the doorway of.

The guest room in Gabriel and Alfie's apartment had blank white walls, white shelves in one corner holding books with varied sizes and differently colored spines. A desk sat underneath it, a typewriter sitting in the center. The curtains on the window at the head of the bed were dusty, and the closet door was shut. The bed was made, pillows fluffed with an indent in the middle, but the book resting on the fold of the blanket was vaguely familiar.

A Woman In White.

He carefully treaded forward, the carpet unfamiliar beneath his feet. His shoes sunk into it. He caressed the hardcover of the book with his fingertips, and slowly peeled it open. The spine cracked from age, the pages yellowed and creased from the years of him rereading it over and over again. The note on the front cover had been seared into his brain before, but, from age and therapy, had been forgotten.

_You have been longing for this book for a long while. I figured you would enjoy it. I hope I'm right._ _A gift for you, Cassie, because you barely ever get one.  
_ _-Gabriel_

He felt tears prick his eyes, painfully. He inhaled sharply, half-aware of his brother standing near the door.

"Gabe always wanted to give it back to you," he heard Alfie's voice say, softly.

That made the solid rock in his throat explode. A sob ripped through him, and he keeled over the bed, over the book, his arms crossing over his chest and hands clutching his shoulders. He felt a hand on his back. The intentional comfort sent him farther over the edge, and he choked out, venomously, "Get off of me!" He was suddenly back in the cold white room, felt needles pricking his arms, saw the picture--

He pressed his fingertips into the soft tissue at the back of his underarm, but the pressure point did not work. He clamped his hands over his mouth, the bile hot in his throat, tears streaking down his temples from the corners of his red and blue eyes.

\----

_June 24, 1942 - It wasn't a lie. Alfie was waiting at the station platform._

~~~***~~~

**July 3, 1942**

Castiel stared at the metal of the table that laid beneath his elbows, staring at the pages in his new notebook. Alfie had shown him where it was the day after he moved in, tucked into a drawer in the wooden desk. He had remembered what he used to tell him--even if you had the worst day, there was always something that stuck out, good or bad.

It had been nine days since he had arrived, and he vomited at least once a day; if not more. There had been ups and downs--more ups than downs, if he was being honest--but Alfie seemed to understand what he wanted. What he needed.

Personal space.

Castiel didn't know if he knew of his _crime_ or not. And if he did, he did not know if he knew what was done to him in captivity. The chemicals, the castration, the shock therapy. It was nothing he wanted to think about, and did not, not for a second, want his little brother know. He didn't need to know about it.

But here he was--Alfie clutching the rim of a trash can in his hand--asking Castiel to tell him. He set the trashcan beside him, and immediately pulled his arm back close to himself.

"Cassie, please tell me? It may help me help you."

_They tried to help me._

_They broke me._

"Cas?" He craned his head down, trying to look at Castiel's angled face. "Please?"

Castiel's chin lurched forward, gagging. _Cas._ One of his hands reached out blindly for the trash can. His fingertips tucked against the rim, and he pulled it close to him, turning his body towards it. The can was held tightly between his knees, his elbows on his thighs.

"I know it's hard," Alfie said, softly. "But you barely talk to me at all, as a whole. You've yelled at me to get away from you, once said goodnight, and that's roughly it. You told me the other day to get the can," he added, helpfully, and tried again. "If I know, I may be able to be more useful. You just have to tell me."

The silence hung over them for a long time, like lingering smoke. Finally, after the time of nothing, Castiel asked, shudders running down his spine, "How much do you know?"

Alfie hesitated. Finally, he cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. "Gabe and I met Dean."

At the name, he dry-heaved, tears coming to his eyes. His fingers held tightly onto the rim of the trashcan. He cleared his throat, croaking, "When?"

"It was about a week after you were first...arrested. They called me and Gabe, to tell us that a man named Castiel Novak was arrested." He raked a hand through his fair hair. "We went to your old shop in Lawrenceville, and we met Charlie. Dean showed up later. He was an absolute wreck."

Castiel couldn't help envision him, and saliva dripped from his bottom lip as his body heaved. But it had nothing to expel.

"We had no idea what happened to you," Alfie said, softly. "We weren't really told anything. He gave us some answers. He almost left, but Gabe asked him if he had your favorite book. He just..." he paused. "He wanted a part of you back. Dea--he took us to his apartment, and he gave it to us."

"That's how you have it," he said, hoarsely. "It makes sense."

He nodded. "I know little about the...different aversion therapies. But I do know that you're not the same to what D--he told us."

_I'm not even what he knew._ An empty, croaked sound escaped his throat. It sounded like he was being choked and trying to fight for air. He tried to find a question, but the suction in his throat, the churning of his stomach, the burning in his chest, and the shudders threading up and down his spine made his thoughts swim and buck.

"When...when did you last see him?"

Alfie was the one to voice the answer. "I think it was a few years ago. Before he was drafted."

His head shot up, sickly fear poisoning his stomach. "He's in the war?"

Alfie nodded, grimly. "Gabe sent me a letter a few months ago. Told me that he briefly spoke to him. They were at the same camp. They're both doing okay, as far as I know. That was the last letter I got."

Castiel nodded, weakly. His throat made that barren, sickly croak again, and he spit into the can. "Does he think it's his fault?"

Alfie immediately understood what Castiel meant. "He did. He doesn't talk about you much to us anymore. Between the war and the Depression, we would meet up occasionally. Dean brought his oldest niece, once. She was a sweet thing."

The smile twitching his lips was a foreign being. "Sam and Madison had children."

"Three daughters," he confirmed. "Allison, Margot, and Cassie."

He paused, thinking. "Does Sam know--?"

Alfie shook his head. "No. Not yet. Not ever, I think." The silence settled again, for a long while. The two brothers sat uncomfortably, Castiel occasionally having bouts of hiccups and dry-heaves, his body trembling.

Eventually, Castiel said, his voice barely even existent, "The first thing they did was castrate me."

Alfie's head raised, his eyes widening. "What?"

"Some doctor thought that the...sexual urges were only in the sexual organ. Apparently, that was what made me homosexual, and they replaced it with a heterosexual one."

"And...defective?"

"Absolutely."

"But...that doesn't take that long. You were held for fourteen years."

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. His stomach churned, his anxiety scraping at his insides. "After that was proved ineffective, they tried a lot of hypnosis. When that was proven ineffective, they started...injecting chemicals. Vomit-inducing. And as that happened, they would show me a picture of him. Of...Dean." Saying the name was like chewing on iron nails. "It's now a condition. His name, the thought of him--I vomit. I found that pain helps subside the nausea. I use pressure points when I feel it come up. But I can't look at men anymore. If someone, anyone, touches me, it feels like the needles."

"That's why you wouldn't let me approach you? Or touch you?"

"Alfie, I know you're my brother. When I look you in the eyes, I see my little brother." He shook his head, hopeless and defeated. "I just...I am just a little broken right now, and if I look at you without focus, red lights go off in my eyes and my heart starts beating rapidly and my stomach churns."

Alfie was silent for a long time, and Castiel let it stay that way. Silent. He preferred it.

Finally, Alfie said, "That's absolutely cruel."

Castiel looked up from the trash can.

"I've never been able to understand it!" he exclaimed. "People are people. Once I got spit at when I helped a colored woman with her groceries, and people went out of their way to step around me," he scoffed, "as if I had the plague." He paused, before saying again, "People are people. No matter their pigment, religion, or who they love. I mean, I wouldn't get in bed with a man, but it's not about me. It's about the men that would. And they should feel free to love whoever they want to love."

"Alfie--"

"No. Gabriel and I have discussed this for years--Dean found my opinion exciting, because he viewed it as another person who supported him and people like him. I openly support it. Why shouldn't I? In the twenties, it was open." He shook his head. "Gabriel and I were in California for a few months in '23, I don't remember why; but there were known clubs. Pansy clubs. I saw drag queens and it was...liberating, I guess? To know that it was starting to become okay, at least in some places. But then the thirties came in and," he snapped his fingers, "done deal. Those open places were closed. Those clubs shut down. The therapies got worse. It was coined as a mental illness. Tell me, Cassie, did you feel mentally ill?"

Castiel shook his head. He was surprised by Alfie's passion over the topic of equal and civil rights. "And Gabriel shares these views with you?"

He vigorously nodded his head. "Even more than me. He's very..." he chewed on his lip, "open with...he's very...fluid. Women and men, but he refuses to regard much of his attraction to men. He doesn't want to leave me stranded, so he's careful. To an extent."

He nodded, a corner of his mouth turning up slightly. Gabriel had always been loyal to his little brothers, and Castiel wasn't surprised by it continuing into his adult life. You may grow out of being a child, but you never grew out of being an older sibling. "I'm glad he's been there for you," he murmured.

"The only thing bad about it was that you were not there," he said, softly. "When Mother and Father threw you out, it...it was out of the blue. And it was very quiet, after. Gabriel and I left shortly after that. We never heard anything from any of them, until Mother learned that you were coming here. She was called first."

His eyes widened, filling with horror. "Does she know I'm here? Alfie, she cannot know I'm here."

Alfie began to reach out to Castiel, but immediately jerked his hand back. "She doesn't. I made sure of that. I told her that I never received any call. Which was true. I got it later that night. When she told me that she got a call about you, I wanted to scream at her." He shook his head. "But I'm glad she did hang up. Because I got you. And you're sitting in front of me right now." He smiled, for the first time during the conversation they were having.

Castiel smiled, too, finding Alfie's infectious. "Yeah. I'm here."

"You're here. And, by God, you are never leaving me again."

\----

_July 3, 1942_ \- _Alfie and I had a heart-to-heart. I think we both needed to hear what the other had to say._

~~~***~~~

**October 16, 1942**

Alfie chewed on his lip, hand gripping the letter from the month before. Castiel walked just slightly behind him, anxiety heavy in his limbs, irritating the skin on his neck. He tried taking subtle deep breaths as they walked briskly down the sidewalk, toward the stop where Castiel had stood just months before. Even from down the street, Castiel could see the train, the mobs of people.

But before he knew it, he and Alfie were at the edge. As much as he hated it, Castiel stayed close to a near building, wrapping his arms around himself. He didn't want to go into the crowd, and Alfie knew that. There were no words exchanged between them before Alfie slid into the throng, in search of their older brother.

"Castiel? As I live and breathe!"

He turned his head, his eyes widening. He knew that voice. The man who was running towards him was familiar. He was of the life he left behind. He definitely knew him. Benny Laffite. 

"How long have you been out?" Benny asked him, slowing to a stop as he came near, duffel bag draped over his back.

Castiel could hear his heart hammering in his ears. His hands gripping his arms tighter. "A few...a few months. Since late June."

Benny nodded. His smile was bright, how Castiel remembered it. Though he was grumpy, he was always happy at the same time. "Dean's still over in Europe, if you're wondering."

He squeezed his shoulders, his jaw seizing, bile raising through his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and choked out, "No--I'm not wondering."

"Damn it, Cas--I'm sorry, I didn't--"

He shook his head. "No, no." He forced himself to inhale deeply, to try to clear the rising bile and the burn in his chest. "It's fine. All is perfectly fine. It was nice to see you, Benny, but I do think you should go."

Benny was silent for a few moments. "Alright. Just..."

"Whenever he gets back, don't tell him you saw me. Don't ever tell him, Benny, promise me."

"Why?" He sounded shocked. "Do you not understand how torn up he is? How torn up he has been?"

"Benny," he pleaded, desperately, looking at him again, "I can't even think about him without vomiting. He can't know I'm out of therapy, much less alive. It's better that way, and you need to trust me on that. It'd be a sick game for him to come find me and for me to throw up when I see him."

Benny licked his lips, shaking his head. "Fine. You're right. I just hope you get better. Even though I only knew you through him, I always liked you. You were good for him." Castiel didn't say anything as Benny walked away, regretfully glad for the absence.

It took a few minutes for Castiel to regroup--he was proud of himself not giving in to the overwhelming nausea--and after those few minutes, he noticed Alfie and a shell-shocked Gabriel approaching him.

"Cassie, dear God," Gabriel whispered, reaching out to put his hand to his little brother's gaunt cheek. Castiel pulled back, instinctively, wincing when he saw Gabriel's eyes widen even more. He murmured, "They must've done a number on you, huh?"

"Yeah, you could say that," he replied, weakly.

"I'm so glad you're back, little brother. _Alive_. You could have been killed."

_I wish I was. I wish I did not have to live like this._

He forced a weak smile. "I'm glad I'm back, too."

\----

Castiel could hear them through the two-sided vent. He was curled up beside it, holding his legs against his chest, head rested against the wall.

"Gabe, he's gone through some awful stuff. We need to help him."

"Alfie," Gabriel said, roughly, "there's nothing we can do. Those-those operations, they're belittling. More than that--they make you feel...not human. As much as you think you do, as much as you want to, you can't understand that, Alf."

"Your little brother needs your help," Alfie hissed at him, anger heavy in his voice.

"Is it bad that I look at him and don't see my little brother?"

Castiel slapped his hand over his mouth, making his small gasp inaudible.

"Gabriel!"

"I look at him and I don't see somebody that I'm supposed to know. Before he was arrested, maybe that would be different--but the therapy broke him. You can see it in his eyes!" There was a moment of silence. "Did he choose to come here?"

"No. He was sent to the closest relatives that would take him."

"...They called her?"

"Yeah. She told me to not take him in, and I told her I never got a call. I got it later that night."

"I should've been here."

"You were drafted. You can't control that."

Castiel barely heard Gabriel's sigh. "I needed to be here for you. And for him, it turns out...Did he come with any personal belongings?"

"No. Only a patient ID from the clinic and some stuff they gave him in a carry-on."

He sighed again. "When Dean and I were at the same camp for those few days, he showed me something of Cassie's. It was a photo of our family, one of the photos Mother liked taking when we got a new house--it was the only picture Dean had of him, and he kept it tucked in his helmet every day. Before he was drafted, he kept it in his wallet. Apparently Cas would only let himself miss us one day a year, because he couldn't handle it otherwise. Hearing that from Dean...I didn't know what to say. Dean told me that he did his best to help him through that day every year. God, just hearing that made me want to be there to help him. And now I have a chance to help him, but, like I said, Alf, there is nothing we can do. We can say Dean's name until he stops throwing up, but that's insanely cruel, and who knows if that would work?"

By the time Gabriel stopped speaking, Castiel was using all of his willpower not to vomit. He gagged, and that was it, as Alfie replied;

"He was there for me until he was forced not to. I want to be there for him. I need to help him, Gabriel. You haven't been with him. I have. I have been with him every day since June. It's been months, and nothing has gotten better. He's screamed at me to get away from him, to leave him alone. He's gotten nicer over time, but it's still awful. It tears me apart to see him suffering. I can't stay witness to this and not do anything."

The block in Castiel's throat hurt, his eyes stinging. He pushed himself away from the wall and to his feet, trudging across the room to the bed. He sat down on the mattress, pulling the trash can beside it closer to him, holding it between his knees.

He pulled his notebook and pen from the nightstand. He pulled the cap from the fountain pen, setting it on the pillow, resting the notebook on his thigh, open to its next clear spot.

_October 16, 1942 - Gabriel arrived safely home. I saw Benny today._

_Dean, I miss you. There are no words for how much I miss you. There are also no words for how in love I still am with you, despite everything I have gone through. Despite their wasted efforts, I'm still in love with you. I love you more than rain on a one hundred degree day. I love you more than the moon loves the stars. But every time I think about you or hear your name, I get sick. And the fact I get sick over you makes it so much worse. Because it's you. And you should not be the one to make me feel this way, because I love you, and you're supposed to make me feel good. You've always been so good. You were strength when I was weak, a grounding when I felt like I was flying, you loved me when no one else did; you were all the good I needed, and then it was all taken, and now it is tainted with sickness, poison. But I still see the good. I have to see the good, or else it will feel like it was never there._

_I don't want to feel like it was never there._


End file.
